As the Rest of their Lives Come to an End
by TrilliandZaphod
Summary: Five years after Armageddon't, all is well for Aziraphale, Crowley and the rest of the world. But when a strange girl starts frequenting the A Z Fell and co. bookshop and Crowley hears some disturbing news from Head Office, it becomes clear that the rest of their lives won't be as peaceful as they might have thought...
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: In this story I will be using a mixture of book and show canon because I love them both. Hope you enjoy.**

After Armageddon-that-wasn't, things were set mostly back to normal. The damage done to the M25 was undone, memories were wiped, to both their immense delights Crowley's 1926 Bentley was fixed, and most importantly to Aziraphale, his bookshop and precious book collection were restored.

He had returned to find it in a similar condition that he'd left it in, but a bit less dusty and with a new plump leather sofa in the middle (Aziraphale had considered removing it, but once he saw customers enjoying it, he wasn't able to). Sadly, a few of his priceless tomes were missing, but some new books appeared with titles like 'Biggles goes to Mars' and '101 Things A Boy Can Do'. These, to the angel's delight, were perfect first editions, but he still missed his old collection. After studiously recalling the titles and conditions of the missing books to Adam Young and getting them back, he kindly gave the copies away for free to a mother of two who came into his shop in a desperate search for a way to entertain her kids. He wasn't able to resist.

Aziraphale had pondered whether getting Adam to miracle books into the shop was cheating, but after a lot of thought and a conversation with Crowley on the matter, he had decided that it wasn't, since he had kept them all this time and they would still have been there if it wasn't for the fire.

The fire. The thought of all his precious first editions and signed copies that he'd kept in mint condition over the years catching alight and burning away makes him cringe. But worst of all is the thought of Crowley desperately running into the burning building to save him, and the pain and horror he must have felt when he realised that he'd lost his best friend. Aziraphale makes sure not to think about that and instead focus on getting on with his life and doing the things he loves, like eating exquisite food, reading, and spending time with Crowley.

Of course it hasn't always been completely perfect with his demon best friend. There have been arguments and fall-outs - but that is to be expected with a 6000-year friendship. The majority of the time, all is well. Armageddon and almost losing each other brought them closer together, and Aziraphale appreciates the increased amount of time he's been spending with Crowley since then.

Today is a typical afternoon at the A Z Fell and Co. bookshop. Aziraphale sits at his desk, mug of warm cocoa at his side, studying a 16th century prophecy book to the soft pitter-patter of rain outside. The two customers in the shop are starting to feel a little unsettled, as if they aren't supposed to be there. And the smell is starting to bother them.

The bell at the entrance tings softly as someone enters. The angel glances in that direction briefly, but doesn't give the person who just entered a second thought. It's likely that they'll leave shortly anyway.

Only stopping briefly to note the two dings of the bell as the customers leave, the angel reads on. This book is particularly interesting - all of the prophecies are completely wrong, but it's still interesting to step into the eccentric mind of a man at that time.

After about an hour and a half, Aziraphale looks up from his book. He glances at his empty mug and decides that he deserves a refill. He could of course miracle himself a full mug, but that wouldn't be nearly as authentic. Doing little human things like that is pleasant anyway. He gets to his feet and stretches.

Moving into the main part of his shop, Aziraphale notices someone there. It's the girl who'd entered a little over an hour ago. She's standing in front of one of his many shelves, analyzing one of his heavy, leather-bound books. She glances up at him for a moment, but doesn't say anything.

Normally, Aziraphale would rudely comment on the way a customer is handling one of his precious books, or give them a suspicious glare to drive them out, but he can't seem to bring himself to do either of those things to this particular girl. Instead he just looks at her, slightly confused. She's tall and has shoulder-length black hair; she looks about sixteen, but he couldn't say for certain. Not wanting to look creepy and still not able to say anything, he goes and busies himself in his kitchenette with hot chocolate matters.

As he waits for the kettle to boil, his mind starts to wander. Why has she been here for so long? is the main question on his mind. Normally his 'protective measures' drive out a customer within less than twenty minutes. When Crowley's here, it can be less than ten. But this girl has been here for over an hour. She hasn't tried to buy anything, steal anything, or talk to him. As far as he could tell, she hardly seems to care about the smell, and if she's getting the uncomfortable feeling she must be ignoring it.

The kettle starts to whistle and Aziraphale decides that since she isn't doing anything wrong, he'll leave her to it. Being rude is not a part of his nature and he'll only do it if someone is mishandling one of his priceless tomes or, even worse, trying to buy one.

Mug in hand, he exits the kitchen. He notices the girl is now on the sofa, engrossed in one of his stranger copies of the Bible. If it were anyone else he would storm up to them, snatch the copy out of their hands (carefully, of course) and give the customer a firm scolding. His Bibles are very old and special, and he has never seen a customer show interest in them. He likes it that way. But with this girl...he can't bring himself to do it. He can't pinpoint why or how this girl is having this effect on him.

Aziraphale wrings his free hand awkwardly, unsure what to do. It isn't fear he's feeling, that's the only thing he can be sure of. He isn't scared of the girl, just...just. She's not an angel or a demon, no, it's not that kind of feeling. It's something very particular, possibly familiar? He doesn't notice he's staring at her until she looks up at him.

"Can I help you?" she asks. "You seem a little unsettled."

Aziraphale snaps out of it. "Ah, um, uhhuhh, no, no, everything's um, everything's fine, yes. Everything tickety-boo!"

He quickly shuffles back to his desk before she can say more. He feels stumped. Never before has a customer flustered him so much. He takes a sip of cocoa to try and calm himself down.

"It's nothing, just a customer, she's not doing anything wrong. You're just being silly." Aziraphale mutters to himself. "Stop being silly," he says, a little louder. He doesn't notice, but the girl on the sofa glances up at him again. She simply shakes her head and returns to this very interesting, very unique copy of the Bible she'd found on one of the higher, dustier shelves in the shop.

For the next thirty minutes, the normally very focused angel is restless. I'd better close, he thinks. Any excuse to get this girl out of my shop.

He goes and stands in front of the sofa. "I'm closing," he stammers out. Her dark eyes meet his. They almost feel like they're piercing straight through him, which isn't a very pleasant sensation.

The girl closes the Bible with a snap and gets to her feet. "Very interesting, this. I've never seen anything like it. Where'd you get it?"

"Uh, um, I-I'm not sure I remember," he replies. Of course he remembers. 1634, an almost deserted backstreet in London. It was being sold by an ancient man for much less than it was worth. For a couple shillings, it was his. "It was on display in an antique shop, should I hazard a guess."

The way she looks at him makes him feel like she can read his mind like an open book. "Fascinating," she says. "Keep it safe for me. I'd like to read it when I come back."

With that, she hands him the book and leaves. Aziraphale gulps. She's returning? After a few flustered seconds, he quickly flips the sign on the door to read We're closed and heads to the back of his shop. He shoves the book at the very back of a high shelf, using others to cover it up.

"There." He dusts down his completely dust-free coat. "If she comes back, I'll just tell her I sold it," he reassures himself.

The angel, still unable to completely shake the uncomfortable feeling, settles back down with his book. Occasionally throughout the night, he gets up and walks around his shop, reshelving books careless customers (and himself, admittedly) had left out and inspecting his collection. Anything to keep himself from thinking about the strange girl of this afternoon. lCrowley would be coming over tomorrow; he was thinking of going out for dinner at the Ritz, and then coming back and just chatting about random matters. He has a splendid red from 1832 which he has been itching to open for a while now. They might even get drunk together.

\- Next day, afternoon -

Other than scolding a middle-aged bald man for mishandling an ancient book of his and snatching it away from him when he tried to buy it, Aziraphale has had a quiet day at the bookshop, which is always ideal. He is just reorganising an already quite well-organized shelf when the bell at the door dings.

He doesn't even have to turn around to know that it's her. The unnerving feeling returns, sending a slight shiver down his spine. He firmly tells himself to snap out of it because there is nothing wrong, but it doesn't work as well as he'd hoped.

"Mr Fell?" He hears her call. Aziraphale almost drops the book he's holding, something which he's only ever done twice in his centuries of book-collecting.

"Be-be right there," he replies, annoyed at himself for continuing to feel unsettled. She's going to want that Bible again.

Willing his hands to stop shaking, he meets her at the front of the shop and musters a smile.

"Good afternoon," the girl says, pleasantly. "Do you still have that Bible from yesterday?"

Aziraphale notices that her eyes are doing that piercing thing again. "Yes- um- no, no, sorry, sold it, very sorry, I sold it," he manages to say.

Get a grip Aziraphale, she's merely a normal human customer, she can't hurt you.

She furrows her brow. "Are you sure? I asked you to keep it for me only yesterday."

Aziraphale looks around uncomfortably, trying to focus anywhere but her eyes. "Um, oh yes, right, I'm confusing it with something else, I'll just go and get it, shall I?"

He turns and walks away, almost a little too quickly. Standing in front of where he'd hidden the book, the angel takes a few deep breaths. Breathing isn't something he needs to do, of course, but it's one of those nice little human mannerisms that he's adopted over the years.

"Get a grip," he mutters to himself, pulling out the book he'd told himself he wouldn't give her. Telling himself again not to be intimidated by this girl, he returns to where she is waiting.

"Here," he says, handing it to her with less reluctance than he should've had. "Do you..want to buy it?" He asks, nervously.

"How much is it?"

"It's- I'm afraid it's not for sale," He answers, firmly.

"Then why did you ask if I wanted to buy it?" He can see a grin spreading across her face.

"I-" the angel is starting to feel flustered again. The girl chuckles.

"Don't worry, I don't want to buy it. Don't have the money," Aziraphale almost sighs in relief. "As nice as it is," she adds. Aziraphale musters a small smile.

"Well, I'll just be in there," he says before retreating to his desk, still flustered.

He considers calling Crowley. Crowley would know what to do. He's about to pick up the phone when he realises that Crowley might laugh at him for being intimidated by a teenage girl (and besides, this isn't a real issue).

"I just need to get a grip. She's a perfectly nice girl, you're just being ridiculous," the angel mutters to himself.

Unable to focus, he gets up and stands at one of the shelves, pretending to analyse one of his books. He's actually staring at the girl, trying to decide what to do. He decides to try out one of his meanest glares on her.

Aziraphale, being an angel and (mostly) a nice person, doesn't glare at people often. But when he does, it can kill. At least, that's what he believes. He's managed to deter even the most determined of customer with his looks and is fairly proud of himself for doing so.

He starts with the discrete side-eye, but soon is on to the full-on glower. The girl pays him no attention. Aziraphale is getting desperate now. Using a small miracle, he enhances the bad smell which again, gets no response other than her stopping to sniff the air a little before returning to the book.

At one point she gets up and puts it back to where it was originally and continues browsing. She catches Aziraphale's eye and they stare at each other blankly for a few seconds.

"Is something wrong, Mr Fell?" She asks, narrowing her eyes a little. "You keep on staring at me. Why?"

"Sorry- no- no problem, sorry, don't worry," he stammers. He stands there for a few more moments and then heads into his kitchen to distract himself.

Aziraphale hastily makes himself some hot chocolate and goes back to his desk, making sure not to look at the girl. Putting on his reading glasses, he opens his book again.

Fortunately, he is able to put aside his feelings and focus on the book. In fact, he is so focused that he almost forgets to close the shop before Crowley arrives.

* * *

**I would like to give a shoutout to my good friend Phag for being my editor for this chapter (and will continue to be for the entire story), go follow her fan account on IG aziraphag**


	2. Chapter 2

Crowley is driving through central London in his 1926 black Bentley at a speed which would have caused Aziraphale to faint. Driving far too fast makes it more interesting, and he has nothing to lose anyway. Pedestrians should know the risk, and if they don't then natural selection will take its toll.

He's never seriously hurt anyone so far, and a bit of miracle magic is enough to prevent him from hitting anyone. People may have hit him before, but that isn't his fault.

When he got his prized vintage black Bentley back after Armageddon't he was happy to find that he could leave his tapes in the car without them ever morphing into 'Best of Queen' albums and that all the ones that had long since metamorphosed had been reverted back to whatever they were originally.

That wasn't the only thing that has changed since the events at the airbase. He's unsure whether Aziraphale feels this way too, but he reckons that the failed Armageddon had only strengthened their relationship.

They have always been close, being the only two celestial beings who spend the majority of their time on Earth and prefer crêpes, old books, vintage cars and houseplants to the coldness and emptiness of their places above or below. And having a friend like Aziraphale is rather nice; he'll take on a temptation or two when he'd rather sleep and always has some good wine in the back of his shop.

Aziraphale still isn't able to understand the weird feeling the strange girl in the shop was giving him. He isn't scared of her, that's for sure, he just gets unsettled when she's in the shop. He would expect Gabriel or one of the other angels to give him this feeling; but she is definitely neither angel nor demon.

Yesterday he was continuously checking at every ding of the bell to see if it was her entering, but to his relief, she never came.

But today, she returned. As soon as she entered, a familiar feeling settled over him. Luckily she didn't try to talk to him and soon, with the help of warm cocoa, he managed to calm down and return to his book.

At around 6 o'clock Aziraphale realises that he should close. Mustering up the courage, he goes to the sofa where the girl is sitting, like she had the last days. He notices that her eyes are closed- no, not just that, she's actually asleep.

Never before has a customer fallen asleep in his shop, not with the unpleasant smell and the equally discomforting sensation they get from just being in the shop.

"Hello?" He says. "It's closing time. Hell-o?" He looks around awkwardly, as if the way to wake her up is written on one of his walls.

\- 9 years ago -

Hesta walks down the long, dusty corridor hanging her head. Even though being shouted at by Katlyn is something she's used to, it still hurts sometimes.

She and her foster sister Teri have spent many long, hungry afternoons cowering in their bedrooms, suffering the consequences of accidentally spilling something or for playing too loudly.

She enters her bare bedroom and almost doesn't notice the strange man standing in the corner. His his long, brown coat is dirty and his trousers are ripped. He stares back and she freezes in shock.

"Who-who are you?" She asks when she finds her voice. The man smiles, but it's not like any smile she's ever seen. It's cold and mean like a brisk winters evening and sets off alarm bells in her head.

"I'm your family. Well, part of your family. Your real family, not these people," his voice sends an uncomfortable shiver up her spine.

Her eyes widen. "Really? I don't have any family,"

"Oh you do. There are many of us, and we're all very excited to meet you. Especially your father."

"My father? But he's dead! My parents died!"

He laughs, and his laugh is just as cold and horrible as his smile. "Oh no. Not your real father. Your real father is very much alive and is waiting for you."

Hesta has just realised the situation she's in and is starting to get the sense that this man is very, very dangerous. It scares her, turning her bones to ice. This man is giving her a feeling unlike she's ever felt before, and it's not nice.

He starts to pace around her room. "Are you happy with your life, Hesta? Are you happy living in this horrible place with these horrible foster parents? I've seen the orphanage." He shakes his head. "Ghastly place. You can't be happy with that, can you?"

Unable to stop herself, she shakes her head.

"Thought so. How about you come with me? I can take you to a much nicer place. No need to be scared, darling. We just want you to do one small thing in return and then you can live happily."

She can feel herself backing away from him. "What do I have to do?"

"Oh it's very easy, don't worry about it. And afterwards you can have all you've ever wanted. Everything."

She doesn't respond for a moment. Of course the idea of leaving this place is tempting, very tempting, but it also sounds dangerous. This man is a stranger; she's always been told not to go off with strangers. Slowly at first, and then more decisively, she shakes her head.

"No. I don't want to."

The man narrows his eyes. "Oh I know you do. Everything, my dear. You can do what you want, where you want and with whoever you want. There will be no nasty grownups to stop you."

"No, go away!" She shouts at him. She's holding back tears, not wanting to show this man how scared she is by crying.

Any remnants of his evil smile have completely left is face. "Fine. I'll go now. But I'll be back. Or one of my friends will be back. And maybe then you'll have some sense."

And in the blink of an eye, he disappears. Hesta puts her head in her hands and falls onto the bed. She can feel tears streaming from her eyes as a million questions race around her brain.

The encounter with the man was like any other she'd ever had. I have to leave. I can't stay here, or he'll find me again. And next time he might force me to go with him.

Suddenly, she gets it. She knows what she must do. She goes over it in her head on the way to the kitchen.

Picking up two plates from the cupboard, she throws them down to the floor. They shatter upon impact and shards of white ceramic fly everywhere. She drops another two.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!" Katlyn bellows, dashing into the kitchen. "Hesta, stop that right now, I'm serious!"

Hesta ignores her and drops more. She starts flinging plates and bowls in Katlyn's direction, who yelps and jumps out of the way. Finally, she is getting revenge.

"Hesta, you drop one more plate and no food for a week! Remember when you had no food for two days? Remember? You won't be allowed to leave your roo-"

She moves on to the glasses, which are now suffering the same fate as the plates. Katlyn's face is so red it looks like she might burst.

"Right! That's it you disgusting girl! Travis and I have tried, we tried so hard to be nice and raise you well, but that is it! You are out! I'm calling the orphanage, you are going back!"

Hesta freezes. She has done what she has to do.

She turns to the doorway, expecting to see Katlyn, so angry that there's almost smoke coming out of her ears. But instead she sees Teri, her eyes wide in shock, staring at her and the sea of fragments of plates and glasses.

"Hesta?" She says in a timid voice.

"I'm sorry Teri. I'm so sorry. I had to," she can feel the tears returning, but holds them back.

"Are you gonna go back? Please don't leave me."

Moving carefully through the broken glass, she kneels in front of Teri.

"I am so sorry. I have to leave you now. But when I am older I will come back and rescue you. You just need to hold on," she wraps her arms around Teri and holds her tightly.

"You have five minutes to pack your stuff and we're leaving!" Hesta hears Katlyn yell. She lets go of her sister and smiles at her.

"Be good, ok? Don't do anything stupid without me."

She nods, smiling a little even though there are tears forming in her eyes.

"I'll come back for you. I promise."

Aziraphale takes her shoulder and shakes it lightly. She opens one eye and suddenly, realising where she is, opens the other.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep," she shakes her head groggily and sits up.

He gives her a kind smile, unlike he's ever given to a customer before. "It's alright, no worries."

"Can I stay for just five more minutes? I think I almost found what I was looking for before I fell asleep." She stares up into his eyes.

Aziraphale wants to say no. Customers can't stay past closing time and they definitely can't tell him what to do. But he can't. He can't say no. Not to her.

"FIne. Fine, five more minutes, only five, though," He curses himself for accepting. Well, angels can't exactly curse anything, but in terms of human expression, that's what he did.

After sliding to a halt in front of the A Z Fell and Co. bookshop, Crowley steps out of the Bentley. Slamming the door shut, he swaggers up to the door. It is around this time that Aziraphale usually closes so there won't be any irritating customers. There'd better not be, because nobody stands between Crowley and his alcohol.

He doesn't notice that the sign still says "open".

Just after stepping into the shop he stops dead in his tracks. He sniffs the air and narrows his eyes suspiciously.

"Angel?" He calls out, his tone more worried than he'd like to admit. Something's off. Something's not right. He scans the shop for any sign of trouble, but sees nothing other than a tall girl standing in front of one of the bookshelves. He doesn't give her a second thought.

"Coming, dear," he hears Aziraphale get up from his desk and shuffle over. The angel immediately notices his concerned expression.

"Whatever's the matter Crowley? You look troubled." When Crowley is troubled, Aziraphale is too.

"Something's off, more than off," he raises his hand to emphasise his point. "Something's very wrong," Crowley starts moving around the shop cautiously, occasionally stopping to stare at a particularly suspicious corner or sniff the air again.

"What is it? Nothing's wrong here, I can assure you," says Aziraphale hurridley, going up to him. He puts a comforting hand on his arm. "Look, I'll close now and we can talk."

Crowley holds up a firm hand to stop him. "No," he growls in a low voice. The girl in the shop glances up at them for the first time. "No. Nothing is to change until we find it."

"Find what, Crowley? Nothing is wrong," he says firmly. The girl closes the book she was holding and walks up to them.

"Is something wrong?" She asks, kindly.

Crowley stares at her and despite his sunglasses, he feels sure that her dark eyes are boring into his and reading him like an open book. She doesn't blink and nor does he.

He raises a shaking hand and points at her. "What- what's she doing here?" He asks coldly. The girl doesn't reply.

"Crowley you're being ridiculous! She's not doing anything!" says Aziraphale desperately.

"Ger her out. Get her out of here now," he snarls, ignoring Aziraphale and not looking away.

"Oh, am I doing something wrong mister Anthony J Crowley?" Her voice is as cold and sharp as an icicle. Crowley feels like he's about to faint but maintains his stance and gaze. He opens his mouth but when no words come out he closes it again.

Aziraphale looks back and forth between them, his confusion increasing. "Do you two know each other?"

Crowley opens his mouth to reply but the girl cuts him off. "We've never actually met but I've heard of him. I know enough."

To his relief she finally stops boring into him with her eyes and looks at Aziraphale instead. All three of them stand in silence for a few moments.

"Well, I won't keep you. Enjoy your evening, and I'll see you soon Mr Fell. I'll even flip the sign for you." She smiles and exits just after Crowley yells "You are never to come back you-"

"Crowley!" Aziraphale exclaims as she shuts the door behind her. "What the he- what on earth was that about?"

He glances at the angel and doesn't reply. Instead he goes and sprawls himself on the sofa in the small room at the back of the shop. Even though there is now a sofa in the middle of the shop they still choose to drink and converse at the back, just for old times' sake. He takes off his sunglasses and puts a leg over the top cushions.

Checking that the sign is flipped to closed, Aziraphale hurries to the back of his shop. "I'll get us a drink, shall I?" He knows that Crowley's lack of reply doesn't mean no. He'll never say no to a drink.

Pulling out a couple of bottles at random and some glasses as well, he heads back to where Crowley is. He has his eyes closed and is deep in thought. Well, as deep in thought as Crowley can be.

"You owe me an explanation," he says as soon as he's sat down, pouring the wine into two glasses and pushing one in Crowley's direction, who sits up against the side of the sofa with his feet up. Aziraphale has long since given up scolding him for putting his shoes on the leather cushions.

He takes the glass and downs two-thirds of the wine. "What's there to explain? Couldn't you feel it?"

"Feel what?" He replies nervously, taking a sip of his own wine.

Crowley swings his feet down and plants them on the floor. "You know a weird, a weird.." he waves his hand erratically to try and emphasise his point. "Just a weird feeling, you know, a feeling that something's wrong, a feeling that you can't quite place." He finishes the rest of his wine. "You must do."

Aziraphale doesn't want to admit that he's right. The girl even managed to get him to let her stay past his usual closing time, something which has never happened before. "It's probably nothing," he says as decisively as he can. Crowley stares at him with his head cocked to one side, thinking.

"Just don't let her come back in, alright?"

Sensing that he wants more wine, Aziraphale passes him the bottle. Crowley accepts it and pours himself another glass. He doesn't reply or meet Crowley's gaze.

"Angel?"

"Fine. Fine. Alright. I won't let her back in." He leans back in his chair. "Now let's talk about something else."


	3. Chapter 3

Crowley sits down on his ornate, throne-like chair and puts his feet up on the desk in front of him. Bored, he switches on his TV, hoping to find news that the humans have conjured up some crisis that he can take credit for.

A weatherman is standing in front of a large map of southern England and discussing today's weather.

"And in London we can expect a heavy cloud cover for the majority of the day, it's quite likely that we'll see some rain a little later o-"

"Crowley!"

The dirty, scowling face of a demon replaces that of the presenter and looks right at him. Crowley sighs and raises his hand in greeting.

"There will be a meeting. Today. Three o'clock sharp. Don't be late."

"I'm never late," he replies, apathetic as always..

"Be there Crowley, it will be important." And with that, the weatherman's face is restored. Crowley lets out an exasperated sigh. Why can't they just leave me alone?

He had expected that the body swap with Aziraphale would scare the demons of Hell enough to leave him alone - and they did for a while - but as time went by they started to treat him more and more as they did before.

Of course, he can still detect an air of fear about some of them when he is around, but that seems to be wearing off, especially with the Prince of Hell, Beelzebub.

At times, he has wondered whether some of the demons have found out about their little trick, but Aziraphale assured him with a smile that if they had, he'd instantly be brought to a sticky, sticky end.

A knock on the door startles Aziraphale. "We're closed!" he calls out at the silhouette at his door.

They knock again. "It's me, I'm the girl who was here yesterday and a few days ago as well. I need to talk to you."

It's her.

Begrudgingly, he gets up and opens the door, just enough so he can poke his head round. "I'm very sorry, we're closed now, come back tomorrow I'm very busy now, lots, lots to do."

"Are you really?" she asks, cocking her head a little to one side. "I can help you. I have nothing to do."

"No, no, it's quite alright," he assures her. "Anyway, you heard what Crowl- what my friend said yesterday."

"Are you really going to let him order you around? This is your shop, Mr Fell."

Aziraphale looks around uncomfortably, something he seems to do a lot around this particular girl. He's unsure of what to do. He did promise Crowley, but on the other hand this is his shop.

"How did you know his name?" he asks warily.

"Let me in and I'll explain. I'll explain everything."

After a moment, he opens the door. She steps in and sits down on the sofa. Aziraphale joins her, bringing the chair from his desk.

"Now I'll admit, using his full name and saying what I said was more to scare him than anything, I really don't know much about him. I used to volunteer in a library and he had a library card there for a bit, so I know his name and the books he took out. It was just a prank really."

Aziraphale can tell she's lying. Crowley has "better things" to do than frequent libraries; the only book-filled place he'll ever voluntary go to is his shop. He tries not to show his suspicions.

"Right," he says, nodding slowly. "Why did you do that then?"

She shrugs. "Bit of fun I guess." Their awkward silence is filled with the sound of raindrops tapping against the windows; it started to rain a few moments ago.

"So, is there a particular reason why you keep coming back?" He tries to ask this as candidly as he can, choosing to focus on a small pile of books next to the sofa rather than on her.

"I like reading. Got bored of the library. I saw 'rare books' written above your door and I was drawn in. I must say, your collection is truly fascinating. This is far, far beyond what the libraries have."

Aziraphale can't help but smile at the compliment. "My father started this collection and this shop many years ago, I took it on after he, after he passed."

Again a silence settles between them. He suddenly notices that it's gotten colder in the shop because of the weather outside. He notices goosebumps forming on her bare arms and his natural hospitality kicks in.

"Are you cold? Would you like something to drink? Cocoa, perhaps?" The words shock him as soon as they come out of his mouth. He has never, in all the decades that he has run the shop been kind to a customer, let alone offered a customer a drink.

"Yes please," she replies with a soft smile. And as if acting on their own accord, Aziraphale's feet take him to his kitchenette and he finds himself preparing two mugs of the drink.

He can hardly believe that he's making a customer, the people who most of the time are absolute nuisances to him, cocoa. Why am I doing this? I hardly know this girl, in fact I know nothing about her except that she likes to read. She interrupted me and now I'm offering her drinks.

"There is another what?" yells Crowley, slamming his hands down on the table in anger.

"You heard the prince," sneers Hastur. "Another Antichrist. On Earth. At this moment. And soon, she'll bring about Armageddon and we'll have our war."

"And we'll win the war," adds one of the demons, causing grunts and nods of agreement from the others around the table.

"And why wasn't I told about this sooner?" Demands Crowley, glaring at the demons around him. Some look amused at this sudden outburst.

Beelzebub laughs. "We didn't want a repeat of lassst time Crowley. We didn't want you and your sstupid angel boyfriend to mess things up. And sso far, everything's gone perfectly." They finish, smug at the prospect of embarrassing the demon.

He raises his eyebrow at the boyfriend comment. "And how long has this antichrist been on Earth?"

"She was brought there on the very same night as the boy. We had a much more, shall we say, competent group handle it. If Adam had done what he should have, she would have gone the same way as the rest of the mortals. But now that he hasn't, she shall rise," declares one of the Dukes of Hell, proudly.

"But why, why didn't we just have one, I mean, I mean, you had me to make sure that he'd grow up right and, and the nuns.."

"Do you really think we'd entrusst such an important matter to that group of incompetent, babbling idiots and you?" Beelzebub glares at Crowley. "Of course we had a backup plan. Who do you think we are?"

"No, no, yes, of course, of course we'd have a backup plan," he agrees quickly.

"Anyway. She is soon to receive the hellhound. Unfortunately our best one was wassted when we gave it to that Adam boy," Beelzebub spits out his name as if it were a dirty word. "Sso we'll have to give her the next best one. I trusst it's all ready?" This question is aimed at a tall demon at the end of the table, who nods enthusiastically.

"All ready sir," replies a smug-looking demon. "We'll unleash it as soon as you give the word."

"Uhh just out of interest, where is this hellhound gonna go when it's, you know," Crowley waves his hand to imply 'unleashed'.

"She doesn't really have a home, this girl," says the demon sitting opposite Crowley. "She's been through some foster houses, ran away from her last one. She's living on the streets in central London. It'll have no problems finding her," he assures the table. Crowley gets a sick feeling in his stomach and tries not to look uncomfortable or against the plan.

"And are you absolutely sure that it will work this time?" asks Hastur, narrowing his eyes. "We can't afford a repeat of last time."

The demon who spoke before stands up and starts to pace around the table, "I've made sure of it that she'll want to go through with Armageddon. The evil influence throughout her life has been strong." He looks straight at Crowley. "And I have not gotten the wrong girl,"

Beelzebub claps their hands together and smiles an evil, cold smile. "Excellent. You can unleash the hound."

Two demons get up and leave the table. "The rest of you are dismissed. And be ready to fight. The end is nigh."

Aziraphale cradles his mug in his hands and watches the girl in front of him take a sip from hers. Like the other times when he's been with her, hordes of questions are circling his brain.

One of the reasons why he likes books so much is that they allow you to find the answer to anything, but no book would be able to help him with his questions.

Why aren't you at school? What is your name and How do you really know about Crowley? are some which he could just ask her. But Why do you give Crowley and I an odd, unplaceable feeling whenever you're near? isn't one which he could just drop into conversation lightly. He smiles, trying not to look awkward.

She sets her mug down and starts to pace the shop, stopping occasionally to read titles or examine front covers. Aziraphale doesn't know what to say.

After some internal debate and rehearsal of the statement in his head, he goes up to her. "Are you sure you aren't looking for any-anything in particular?"

She turns to him. "Remember that Bible I was reading on the first day? What was that? As in, why was it written like that and what does it mean?"

"Honestly, I don't quite know myself. As I said, I stumbled across it in an antiques store, the owner told me he didn't understand it and sold it to me for a very good price. I have pondered over it myself and expect it was just an eccentric man's mind expressed in byfrieneat lines on paper. We shouldn't take it too seriously." She nods in reply.

He decides to ask one of the less important questions, at least to get it out of the way. "By the way, what is your name?"

Going back to the books, she replies without looking at him. "Hesta."


	4. Chapter 4

Hesta and himself, Aziraphale quickly finds, have quite a few common interests. They both enjoy old literature, prophecy books and long afternoons reading to the sound of rain tapping against the roof.

After some interesting conversation, they are both deeply engrossed in dusty prophecy books he had pulled out from a shelf in the back of the shop. Ignoring the particular feeling he normally gets from her has gotten much easier.

He glances at the clock and realises that it's nearing seven o'clock. He remembers that he had wanted to ask Crowley to dinner at the Ritz, but Hesta's presence had caused the plan to slip completely from his mind.

"Oh- Hesta, it's nearly seven," he says, interrupting her reading. She takes a look at the clock and closes the book with a snap.

"I guess I'll be off then. It was nice to properly get to know you, Mr Fell." He returns her smile with a kind one of his own.

She stands up and, leaving the book on the sofa, she leaves the shop, closing the door noiselessly behind her.

Aziraphale stands up and stretches. He heads over to his phone and dials Crowley's number. After trying to talk to him, he realises it's gone to the kind, patient-sounding lady telling him that he's on another call. He leaves a polite message, asking if Crowley would like to go to dinner with him at the Ritz.

Shoving her hands deep into her pockets, Hesta makes her way across the road and down the street, away from the Az Fell and Co. bookshop.

Mr Fell she found, after exchanging pleasant conversation for a while, is not an uninteresting man. He does seem a bit flustered about her, but she finds the way her presence seems to fluster him amusing. He's nice and they seem to enjoy similar things.

An awful chill creeps up her spine and she shivers, but not due to the cold. The instinct of being followed manifests in her head and she itches to turn around and get a glimpse of the potential threat.

Digging through her pockets to find something to throw away, she stops at a bin so she can look behind her. Depositing an old gum wrapper, she sees him.

Him.

He's pushing past people and squeezing through the crowds but no one seems to notice him. He has his eyes fixed on her and her only.

She begins to increase her pace, bustling past people and saying "excuse me, excuse me," at random in an attempt to put as much distance between herself and the evil being.

Yet she can still sense his presence not far behind her. She breaks into a run and ducks into an unlit alleyway, hoping to cut through the streets to somewhere, anywhere else.

It's a dead end.

Aziraphale puts the phone down. He's sensing something...something strange, not too far away. He sniffs the air and starts to move around the shop.

But the feeling he is getting is unmistakable.

A feeling of evil presence, starting from his toes and crawling up his spine to infect his whole body, not unlike the one he used to get from Crowley a long, long time ago. But it's much stronger than Crowley's ever was.

There is a demon nearby.

Aziraphale slips his coat on quickly, and after dutifully flipping the sign to _closed_, he steps out of the shop into the brisk evening.

He crosses the road and starts down the street, unbeknownst to him but in the same direction that Hesta had gone. He can tell he is getting closer to the demon.

Hesta walks backwards, keeping her eyes fixed on the entrance to the alleyway. She could hide behind one of the grimy bins at the end of the road, but it would be of no use.

The man comes into view. As usual, he is wearing the long, filthy coat which looks like it has been on him for years on end without having seen a washer.

"What do you want from me!?" she shouts, resenting the slight tremble in her voice.

"We are still waiting for you, Hesta," he says, calm as ever. "Your true family down below is all waiting."

"You're all fakes! You aren't my true family!" Unable to stop them, her feet start to take her backwards. The man follows her.

"I can show you Hesta. I assure you, I am not lying. You can't deny what you are." His smile is maniacal, deviant, unchanged from all those years ago.

"I am _not_ the Antichrist and Satan is _not_ my father. This is a lie. You're just a stalker and a pedophile with an unhealthy obsession with me."

She is getting closer to the end of the alley. She plants her feet to the floor, trying to keep up a fearless and intimidating front, hoping against hope that he will leave her and never find her again.

"Make it happen Hesta," he says, his eyes boring into hers. "Make it real."

Aziraphale increases his pace, feeling the evil getting stronger. It is hard to move quickly on a pavement during rush hour in London, and Aziraphale is almost too agitated by the demon's presence to politely say "sorry" and "excuse me" every time he has to push past someone.

Suddenly, he stops, causing the flow of people to have to move around him. He hadn't thought at all about what he'll do when he encounters the demon. Fight them? He doesn't have any holy water, or any other weapons for that matter.

He looks around as if he'll find his flaming sword hanging off the nearest lamppost. But, after a moment, despite not having any weapons or any plan, he continues on towards the evil being. After all, his job is to thwart evil. You see a wile, you thwart.

"Make what happen?! You're a fake!" Hesta suddenly lets out a yelp and grips her head in her arms, doubling over in pain. The demon's horrible grin widens, enjoying seeing the effects of the pain he's dealing. "No, no, I won't!" She cries through gritted teeth.

"Just one thought Hesta, it's all you need! And everything can be yours!" The demon raises his hands, clearly feeling as if he has won. The pain continues to sear through her head, causing her whole body to shake.

"I will not!" shouts Hesta, grabbing a piece of discarded wood and flinging it in the demon's general direction. She misses by about a metre but the demon still jumps aside. She throws another piece, which this time hits his leg — he jumps back and hisses quietly.

Hesta can sense the anger building inside of him. She picks up another piece and pelts it at the demon which, although the pain is so great her vision is starting to cloud, hits him in the stomach. The throw wasn't very strong, but he still staggers back and yells furiously.

Aziraphale is in very close vicinity to the demon, he can feel it. _They are in this alleyway... I am sure of it._

He stops at the wall where the alley is. He pokes his head around the side and is greeted by a horrifying sight.

One of the tall, dirty bins hurtles forward and slams itself into Hesta, knocking her to the floor. The demon yells and she screams as it hits her, and when it falls completely on top of her, she groans and tries to move forward, but it's too heavy.

The demon stares in horror at what he has done. Throughout his millennia with Crowley, Aziraphale has seen similar things happen before; when Crowley experienced strong negative emotions he has smashed street lamps and made children cry. Similarly, when he himself experiences a strong positive emotion flowers open their buds and people around them smile. The demon's anger and impulsiveness has caused this to happen against his will.

"Oh you're in deep, deep trouble!" Declares Aziraphale, stepping out from behind the wall. The demon whips around and stares at him in shock.

Aziraphale gestures to the fallen bin, only just stopping himself from running over and tending to Hesta, who has surely sustained multiple injuries.

"I doubt Head Office will be very happy to know you've killed their second Antichrist," he says to the now scared-looking demon.

"I've-I've-"

"I suggest you run along now, before someone finds out it was you. It can be our little secret." He smiles a little, despite wanting to do quite the opposite.

The demon nods quickly and dashes out of the alley. As soon as Aziraphale doesn't hear his footsteps anymore, he rushes over to the fallen bin and where Hesta lies in a crumpled heap.

A miracle later, the bin has been restored to its original position. He runs his hands over her still body, fixing broken bones, vanishing any bruising and stopping internal bleeding. "There, there, nothing happened, absolutely nothing," he mutters, mostly to himself.

After a few moments, she opens her eyes and coughs. She stares up at him and he gets up quickly. "Nothing, nothing happened, nothing at all, you just fell and-"

"I didn't _just fall_," she sits up, wincing a little. Aziraphale dusts down his coat, unsure of what to tell her.

"No dear, you really did," Aziraphale figures it would make life a lot easier if he didn't have to reveal himself or the whole truth to her. "So, who was that man? Do you know him?" He asks, changing the subject completely.

"Don't change the subject," she snarls. "I want answers and you've got them."

He shakes his head quickly. "Oh, I do believe you're quite mistaken," Aziraphale raises his hands in defense. Her piercing eyes are starting to intimidate him. "You had just, you had just left and, um, I heard some screaming and I came and, uh, you'd fallen, because one of these metal things had, had fallen on you, anyway, you're fine now, aren't you?" He tries to put all the persuasiveness he can into that sentence, which would be enough to completely change the mind of a normal human.

But Hesta is no normal human.

Hesta turns and sees that there are indeed some heavy looking metal parts on the higher shelf. But she doesn't believe him. "You're lying," she starts to pace up and down.

"That demo-that man was here, that bin that _entire_ bin fell on me. Then you came and," she waves her hands wildly, "healed me. I shouldn't be able to walk. I should have broken bones and internal bleeding and-" she hesitates and looks at Aziraphale.

"What are you?"

Crowley hurtles around a corner at 80 miles per hour, knuckles white on the steering wheel.

"Aziraphale- Antichrist- the girl- it all makes sense," he mutters to himself, ignoring the drivers blasting their car horns at him.

Aziraphale must have been lying when he said he didn't get a strange feeling from that girl. The influence from Hell is probably causing the strong demonic feeling he and Aziraphale had felt.

Does she want to end the world? This time, will Heaven and Hell get their war? What will happen to him and his angel?

Aziraphale stares at Hesta and she stares back. He wrings his hands awkwardly.

"I think it's best you come back to the bookshop, then I can tell you everything," he says, quietly.

She nods and in silence they start to walk back. His mind is racing. _What am I going to say? Should I tell her the truth? Will she be able to handle it? Is she truly the second Antichrist?_

The walk back to the bookshop is far too short. Hesta looks like she wants to speak to him a couple times but seems to stop herself before saying anything. They step into the shop and Aziraphale flicks on the lights.

Hesta walks around the shop slowly, seeming to want to see everything. Her restless eyes fall on things she'd never noticed before and of course on the rows and rows of books. Finally, they settle on the awkward-looking Aziraphale.

"Are you...one of them?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. "No, no, you can't be. You're not evil, you don't have- no," Aziraphale lets her gather her thoughts, not saying anything.

"Is what he was saying the truth?"

Aziraphale sighs. "To tell you the truth Hesta, I don't fully know. He looks down at his feet. "Five years ago, there was a boy called Adam Young and he was, well, he was supposed to bring about Armageddon. And he didn't. He denied Sa-Satan as his father and, well, the world didn't end, clearly."

Hesta nods slowly. "But who-what are you? And don't try to lie to me-"

Crowley comes to a skidding halt outside Aziraphale's bookshop. He charges out of the Bentley and to the door of the shop.

"Hesta I'm, I am-"

He flings the door of the bookshop open and barely registers Hesta there with Aziraphale. "Antichrist, she's the Antichrist!" He bellows.


	5. Chapter 5

"Antichrist she- Aziraphale that girl's the- what's she doing here?"

"Crowley I can explain-"

"Didn't I tell you not to let her in here?" He snarls. He looks at her, sharp and fierce as a snake.

"Crowley, listen to me. One of- one of your lot found her. He threw a bin on top of her in an alleyway. I couldn't have just left her there," he replies sternly. Crowley glares at him, breathing heavily. Before he can reply, Hesta does.

"You again! I was told to watch out for you, that's how I knew your name. They told me you're an absolute idiot, and if one thing that man has ever told me is true, I'm sure it's that."

He ignores her. "Get her out of here Aziraphale," growls Crowley. "We can't-"

"But it's dangerous for her! They know her location now! You know better than anyone what they can do to her." Aziraphale does his best impression of a puppy begging for food, leaving Crowley unable to respond.

"Now listen, Hesta," Aziraphale turns to said girl. "I'm sure you have a lot of questions, we will try to answer them as best we can. It's not going to be easy to understand, I assure you. But ask away."

She hesitates for a moment before asking the same question she was asking before. "What are you?" She looks between them, more confused than ever.

Aziraphale sighs. He, with a little help from Crowley, tries his best to explain who they are, who the demon was and about their respective sides. Hesta listens intently.

Once he finally finishes, she eyes the two of them, not sure whether to believe them or not. "It can't be true. You're lying to me."

"Please believe us, Hesta," Aziraphale pleads.

Again, she shakes her head.

"Heaven, hell, angels, demons, antichrist, this is all just- no. No. It doesn't make any logical sense. How am I supposed to end the world?"

"Listen kid, we don't want you to be the antichrist either," snaps Crowley. "But that's who you are. How do you think that demon hurt you? His strong anger towards you made him tip over the edge, lose control, and next thing you know you're trapped like roadkill under a bin."

She crosses her arms. "If you really are an angel and a demon, prove it."

Aziraphale and Crowley look at each other. Slowly, for the first time since the airbase, they unfold their wings. The white and black feathers at the ends of their large wings brush against each other once they're fully open. Hesta stares at them wide-eyed.

Carefully, she goes over to Aziraphale and feels end of his wing. She notices him flinch a little, as if he has nerve endings in every feather. Their large wings bob up and down a little, producing a light ruffling sound.

"Proof enough?" asks Crowley. Hesta nods and they fold back their large wings. She hates it, but somehow it makes sense. The demon finding her wherever she was over the years, all the things he'd told her…

"But me being the antichrist… what does that- what does that mean?"

"Simple," says Crowley. "You have to, well, according to their plans you have to bring about the end of the world so they can have their stupid war. You have to call the four horsemen and, well, kick it all off. Which, by the way, you are not to do," he finishes, decisively.

"Listen, I have no intention of ending the world. I still don't even know if I can trust you or what I can believe anymore but I am not going to- just- no." She can see relief flush over their previously tense faces.

"But what are we going to do about it?" Hesta asks, finally. She resents the obvious hint of fear in her voice.

Neither Aziraphale nor Crowley know how to answer this. They look at each other awkwardly, and Hesta starts to fear that not even they know the answer.

"We'll figure out something," says Aziraphale at last, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "It's late, Hesta, and I think you should go home. Where do you live?"

She looks between them for a few moments before answering, making it clear that this is an awkward question. "Well, not really anywhere," she replies, almost sounding ashamed.

"What do you mean?" asks Crowley, sounding more concerned than he'd like to admit.

"Well, I left my last foster home because of the demon. I thought if I left that house he'd leave me alone, well, I knew he'd never leave me fully as he's always found me again but I at least hoped I could deter him for a little. I thought that if I could keep moving, which I have been, he wouldn't be able to catch me."

"He's been to you before?" asks Aziraphale.

"Oh yes," she ejaculates. "Wherever I've gone, he's found me. I've changed foster homes four times because of him. Whenever he'd come, I'd have to move. But the last time I did it, I didn't go back to the orphanage."

"But how did you just leave? Weren't you worried that your foster parents would send the police looking for you?"

She shakes her head. "They didn't care about me; they were just in it for the money. I did it after I turned sixteen so they couldn't really stop me if they wanted to."

"But where do you sleep?" asks Aziraphale, concern obvious in his voice.

Hesta manages to make eye contact. "Places. I knew places, I knew people, I knew where to go."

The angel shakes his head, emotion coursing through his veins. Despite knowing that Crowley might complain, Aziraphale lets his natural hospitality take over. "Hesta, do you want to sleep here tonight?"

She looks at the door, contemplating.

But how can she trust them? She hardly knows them, and Crowley is one of them after all.

Aziraphale comes over to her. "I promise you Hesta, we have no intention of harming you. We are not like the others. You can trust us."

The angel's presence has a calming effect on her. For the first time in as long as she can remember, she isn't feeling scared. "Alright then," she mutters. "Thank you."

With a quick miracle he extends the sofa a little bit, just so it will be more comfortable for her to sleep on. "Oh it's no problem at all!" he beams. "You settle down here, I'll get you some cocoa and a blanket."

"I'll be in the back, Angel," says Crowley, heading to their usual room.

Hesta smiles gratefully, and lies down. Aziraphale returns the smile and goes to make her some cocoa for the second time today.

He can't help but smile when he comes back to see Hesta curled up on the sofa, already soundly asleep. He sets the cocoa down noiselessly and miracles a soft blanket over her. Then he creeps to the back of the shop where Crowley is.

Crowley had already opened a bottle of wine but hadn't bothered with any glasses, so, post-armageddon't style, he takes a swig and passes it to Aziraphale who does the same.

"So that, that girl you found her with a-"

"Yes, yes," Aziraphale says hurriedly, interrupting Crowley. "I could tell that something was wrong, even from back at the shop."

Crowley takes another sip. "Do you think she was lying when she said she doesn't want to end the world?"

Aziraphale sighs, and hesitates a little before answering. "I don't think so. She made it quite clear that she didn't want anything to do with him and she didn't even believe she had any kind of powers until less than an hour ago."

Crowley nods. "At the meeting earlier today they had me worried, Angel. I really thought they had raised this-this," he waves his hands erratically to signify some kind of monster.

Aziraphale pulls the bottle towards him and takes another swig, smirking at his friend's gestures, which, to any other might seem random but to him make perfect sense. They sit in a comfortable silence for a while, occasionally passing the bottle back and forth for the other to have a sip.

"I have to stay here tonight, Aziraphale," Crowley eventually says, looking up at him. "The demon might come back. Hell will stop at nothing to get their war and to get Hesta to kick off Armageddon. I don't know what they might do but I promise you it won't be good. Not one but good."

Aziraphale doesn't mind at all. "That's quite alright, dear," he says, smiling. "You look tired. Do you want to sleep?"

"You have a bed?"

The angel nods. "There is a little flat above the shop, well, I say flat but it's just a bedroom really. I don't use it, of course, but the bed is made up."

Crowley nods, slowly, a grin spreading across his face. "Yeah alright, let's see it." They get up and Aziraphale leads Crowley up a creaking wooden staircase to the small bedroom at the top of the shop. He paces around, admiring the wooden rafters and roof, and then sits down on the bed. Miraculously, it isn't at all dusty and has a soft blanket folded at the end of it.

Crowley picks up the blanket and feels it, analyzing the pattern. Crowley tried unsuccessfully to disguise the look of disgust that wanted to cross his face.

"Tartan. That went out of fashion

long ago," he shakes his head but unable to help a smile. "You're so predictable, angel."

Aziraphale smiles in return. "I couldn't resist."

They stand in silence, neither of them sure of what to say. Aziraphale is having trouble understanding how he's feeling at the moment. Crowley stretches and yawns widely, not unlike a snake.

"Well, I'll leave you to it, shall I? Goodnight, dear."

Aziraphale turns swiftly one on foot and just gets to the door when Crowley says, "Aziraphale?"

He turns again to face him. "Yes, Crowley?"

"When's the last time you slept?"

Aziraphale hesitates, thinking. "I don't think I can remember, Crowley. I have tried, certainly, but I'm not sure if I've ever succeeded."

"When's the last time you tried?"

"Um, long ago, I'm not exactly sure when. It's been many decades, that's for sure. But because I never managed, I just stopped trying."

"It's nice, you know," Crowley says, hugging one of the pillows to his chest. "I slept for most of the nineteenth century."

Aziraphale nods, recalling the hours he spent studiously writing reports to Hell on his behalf to make sure that he didn't get in trouble. "I was never able to. It's very, very human, isn't it?"

"It would do you good. A little sleep never harmed anyone."

Aziraphale furrows his brow slightly. "What are you getting at, Crowley?" he asks, suspecting he already knows the answer.

He cocks his head to the side a little. "I can teach you if you want, tonight. It's very easy, I promise you. Stay with me, Aziraphale," Crowley says decisively, in that tone Aziraphale never can resist.

"No, no, I can't sorry, no, lots to do, no I-"

"Aziraphale," Crowley raises a hand, stopping Aziraphale's flurry of words.

He takes a deep breath and then keeps talking before Crowley can. "Listen, Crowley, I don't need sleep, anyway; I doubt, I doubt my side-"

"What side!" the demon exclaims forcefully. "There is only our side, didn't Armageddon show you that? We aren't a part of them anymore. We

on our own side."

"It doesn't work like that, Crowley. It isn't that easy, at least not for me," he replies, quiet enough that the demon can hardly make out his words. He can't make eye contact anymore, so instead he looks down at his feet.

"Why not?" Crowley stands up and goes over to him. "They can't do anything to us.

. We've already proven that to them. We've shown them that we aren't them anymore. Look at me, Angel."

When he looks up at him, Crowley can almost see tears forming in his eyes. He puts a hand on the angel's arm. "They can't control us anymore. We are on our own side."

They stare at each other in a silence filled with noise. "I'm sorry, Crowley. Good-goodnight."

He shuts the door behind him and hurries downstairs, wanting to do anything to take his mind off their conversation.

He wouldn't have minded a sleep. But his side wouldn't like it.

He puts his elbows on his desk and head in his hands. Despite having defied Heaven countless times over the years, despite humanity and Crowley being his true side, despite his display with the hellfire those years ago… he feels like he can never truly stop Heaven from being a part of him.

The thoughts of Gabriel and the others, the fear that they will punish him for his friendship with Crowley constantly nags at the back of his head. Of course, since Armageddon't it's been weaker – much weaker – but it's still there.

And it's not a feeling that will leave him any time soon.

He grabs the nearest book to him and opens it at random, hoping that reading will distract him from his thoughts like it always does.

After a while, he has calmed down, and is so focused that he doesn't hear that Crowley has come downstairs until he stops right behind him.

Before he can say anything he feels Crowley's long arms wrap around his frame and a bony chin rest on his shoulder. They have embraced only once before, many, many years ago, so he welcomes it, leaning back a little into Crowley's chest.

But it's too much.

The feelings, the thoughts that he was trying to distract himself from all come flooding back at once. Aziraphale chokes on a small sob, barely a whisper of the emotional turmoil he's experiencing, but just loud enough for the demon to notice.

"Oh..angel," murmurs Crowley in his ear, rubbing his shoulder.

"Crowley-I, I,"

"I know, I know," he says. "Don't worry Angel, I know."

Aziraphale can't stop a few tears from slipping from his eyes. He can sense that Crowley wants him to stand up and come with him so he does, allowing him to slip an arm around his shoulders as they walk.

Crowley ushers him up the stairs and, a miracle later, he's wearing soft, silky, pearly white pajamas. "Crowley are you sure, I-"

"Yes, yes, come on, they'll never, ever know."

Almost too easily, Crowley gets Aziraphale into the bed and under the covers, all the time cooing soft, comforting words to him (something which he'd never be able to forgive himself for). Then he slips into the bed right next to him.

"Now, you just close your eyes, don't think, don't talk, don't do anything. Just close your eyes and let yourself drift off…" he says, trying to sound calming.

He takes Aziraphale's hand under the covers and squeezes it gently. "Goodnight dear," Crowley hears him murmur. Then they say nothing more and just listen to the sounds of the other breathing and the occasional car outside.

Aziraphale finds that it's not that hard after all. The soft sound of Crowley breathing, the warmth of the blanket and the occasional shuffling sound when one of them moves are incredibly comforting. Without realising it, the two of them had slowly moved closer together until they doze of practically in each others' arms.

And it was the best night's sleep all three of them had had in a long time.

* * *

**Author's note:**

**Sorry for my absence, school is a bitch. Again, a massive thank you to my editor, go follow her fan account if you haven't already ( mchshe1)**


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